


There are no Targaryens in Skagos

by Ravenclaw_Dragon



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, I'll skip some seasons, I'm new at this, Northern warrior, Please have patience, Skago islanders, Skagos, Slow Burn, Targaryen Bastard in Denial, The King in The North, Wildlings - Freeform, i'll add as i go along - Freeform, or episodes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2020-01-06 19:59:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18395333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ravenclaw_Dragon/pseuds/Ravenclaw_Dragon
Summary: On the day of her death, Myria pondered over all her adventures, and she realised that no matter how far apart, and no matter how distant in spirit, her life and Jon Snow's life were irreversibly intertwined.And she loved him all the more on that day, even as she closed her eyes one last time.





	1. Chapter 1

Sarra had never known such pain. If this was childbirth, she thought, she didn't want any more children. 

Dale, her husband of seven months, held her hand the whole time, a tradition unfamiliar in the North. But then again, this wasn't the North, she reminded herself. This was Skagos, more a land of the free folk than Westerosi. Her choice to marry the leader of the Mo'er clan in Skagos had angered every member of her family. She was a lady, she was supposed to have married a lord. But Sarra was desperate. She had more to protect than herself, now, and these were dangerous times.

"You're going to have to push now, m'lady." said the midwife she'd brought from Karhold. She was in agony, every inch of her wanting to sleep.

"Here, love. It's just a bit more." Dale added,softly. Dale Magnar was her salvation. The love he beared for her, evident in his eyes, had been there since they had met in Harrenhal. He was the most skilled fighter in all of Skagos, and the Skagosi wanted to show him off. But his speciality was in free combat, rid of the bureaucracies of southern tournaments. At the time she had paid him little mind. But when he asked her for a duel they became fast friends. But it was only upon her return from King's Landing, devastated and stripped of her dignity, that his support became her lifeline. And then she had fallen pregnant, and he promptly married her, to protect Sarra and the child. She didn't love Dale as much as he loved her, she knew that, but she prayed to the Old Gods so they would give her the strength to devote the rest of her days to loving him.

The excruciating pain of pushing was blinding. For a second she did not think, she was not Sarra Karstark, now Magnar. She was just a mother trying to push her child out of her. Those minutes of blinding pain gave her reassurance that she would be able to love a child she never wanted, had tried to abort. She pushed harder.

The relief came with soft but determined cries, a new being brought to the world. "You have a daughter, m'lord." said the midwife as she wrapped the child in a soft blanket. the cries didn't stop, only gained strength. 

"A daughter." Whispered Dale. enchanted as the child was passed into his arms. He sat next to her, allowing her to see a baby, still dirty and bloody, with short curls of dark hair and crinkled skin. Her cries stopped. Slowly, she squirmed and yawned, her hand latching to the finger Dale was offering. "I have a daughter." The midwife silently left the room.

Despair flooded Sarra, along with an unconditional love for the child in her husband's arms. "You do know..."

As if listening to her mother, the infant slowly opened her eyes, blinking a couple times before shutting them again, not ready to see the world. They eyes revealed were a bright indigo colour, a deep blue with purple undertones. 

"She's my daughter, Sarra. As much as she's yours." he croaked, his eyes never leaving the infant. At that moment Sarra felt nothing but peace and happiness. She had a husband that loved her, a child now legitimised and nobody hunting her down. She only felt love.

"We'll call her Myra, after my mother." he said. "She'll always be safe here."

 


	2. Chapter 2

A storm raged on, unforgiving. To look outside the windows was to see pure white, snow everywhere. But the cold was the worst. In the 5 years she'd lived in Skagos, the cold was the only thing Sarra could not get accustomed to. 

But it was not on her mind at the moment.

"Where is she, Arra?!" she screamed at her daughter's handmaiden, the woman who should take care of Myria when she was otherwise engaged.

"I don't know, m'lady, she was here a- and I went to fetch water- for her bath- and she wasn't there, I swear, it must've been two minutes I was gone!" she blurted out, in a state of panic. Arra was the best they could find for Myria, which only spoke volumes of her daughter.

"Well you can't let her out of your sight, Arra!" she yelled. "You're going to help me find her."

As the minutes went by, running from chamber to chamber, panic swelled in her already swollen belly. Arra, on the other hand, knew the child would be alright somewhere in the fortress. She always was. She stopped by a chamber in the ground level that for some reason had an open window. As she cursed the servants and moved to close the window, she heard battle cries from outside. Young battle cries. "Lady Magnar! The child is here!"

The heavily pregnant lady ran to the chamber and was perched on the window, squinting her eyes to spot her daughter. She could see her, the young thing, wild curls flying, the only way she could recognise her as her back was turned to her mother and thick furs enveloped her body. As Sarra went to call her she spotter her husband, guffawing and applauding as her daughter and some boy her age clashed practice swords.

"Dale! You must be mad." She yelled with fury, and all movement stilled in the courtyard. Her husband, whose laugh diminished to a sweet yet cautious smile, approached the window. 

"Dear wife, I see your nap was not satisfactory." His smile might have been gone, then, but it rested still in his eyes, crinkled. 

"What are you doing?" she let out, incredulous with the situation. "It's much too cold for a sparring lesson with the cook's son."

"Ah, but battles aren't waged according to the weather, are they? We need warriors prepared for the snow." The two children let out hearty battle cries at Magnar's remark.

"Oh and what a mighty warrior Myria is, at _five years of age_." she responded sarcastically. "It's much too cold, and our guests are to arrive at any time, my lord."

"Oh, our guests." Dale seemed crestfallen at that. He had his suspicions as to the visit of the Warden of the North, and they didn't leave him at all happy. "Come, Myria, you must bathe. I'm sorry, Derrick, but that's all for today." At that, the five year old girl jumped into her father's arms and the cook's son ran inside. 

"Thank you so much, Daddy! I'm almost ready to be a warrior! I'm going to kill all the Wildlings!" Myria exclaimed, her smile overpowering any other emotion. It warmed Sarra to her core. 

"Oh darling, you're going to be even better than you father and I." she said sweetly, leaning over the windowsill to peck her first born's forehead, followed by her husband's lips. "Now, come inside, we must get ready."

She turned and left, headed for her younger son's chamber. Rickard, named after her brother, was a fury even at two. He loved his sister and his parents and not much else, creating a fuss with everything that crossed his path, so it was essential that she be there to help him get dressed, lest he ruin all his clothes.

An hour later and she entered in the Great Hall, a sleepy Rickard rubbing his eyes in one harm, her other hand in her large belly. Dale was already there with a Myria with tear stained cheeks. "What's the fuss all about?" She asked her daughter with a sweet voice. 

"She didn't want a dress and cried over it for almost an hour, didn't you? Made Arra's life living hell." Dale said, trying to sound reprimanding, but failing as a smile invaded his face. Myria looked at the ground and sulked. "Where are our guests?" he asked the would be maester, a kind and wise healer, who stood at the end of the table with a raven's letter at hand.

"The port says they're on their way up the hill, to be here in mere minutes." As he said that, the company of knights that accompanied Lord Magnar at all times entered the room.

Their leader, Krell, spoke in a booming voice "Lord Eddard Stark, Warden of the North, has arrived at Magnar Hall."

"Very well" spoke Dale, straightening his back, and nudging his sitting daughter with his foot so she would stand as well. "Let him in."

Through the door came a figure very familiar to Sarra Magnar. She had known Eddard since he was an infant, but it was Brandon and Benjen she played with. He was a peaceful and quiet wolf, wiser than them all. The last time she had seen him had been at Winterfell as she and the eldest Stark brother got ready to head to King's Landing. "There must always be a Stark at Winterfell" he had told her when she asked why he wasn't astride a horse as she was. Little did she know how it all would change in so little time. 

"Ned." She spoke softly. "It's been too long." she smiled. She reckoned she was happy to see him. Sad, because he brought memories of her best friend and of her tragedies, but happy, because he had always been a friend. Even if from a past life. 

"Indeed, my lady. It's been what, five years?" He walked towards them and stopped before her husband. "Lord Magnar, it's always a pleasure. Benjen still speaks highly of your duels in Harrenhal." 

"Oh, you mean his sparring lessons?" He quipped with a hearty laugh. Eddard smiled as he extended an arm, and Dale gripped his forearm in a typical Skagosi embrace. In it there was no hierarchy, no submission. Ned Stark might have been the Warden of the North, but in Skagos they were equals. Even if one answered to the other. "So what brings you here, Lord Stark? I reckon decades have passed since a wolf has crossed the deep tides to Skagos and Skane."

Eddard shared a remorseful glance with Sarra. It had been with her he had traded ravens. "I think it is a subject best approached far from the ears of children." he remarked, as he glanced at the two children, whispering to one another a few steps behind their parents. He took a few steps toward them and kneeled, so he was at their height. "Hello. I'm Lord Stark. I've heard lots and lots about you. You're the spitting image your you mother." He spoke to the two of them, trying to appease them, as they stared uncomfortably.

He didn't lie, their faces were Sarra's in every way. Myria, the eldest, had her curls and her freckles and her snowy complexion, whilst Rickard, the youngest had her expressions, that frown that came with an attitude. Atop his head were curls that were almost red, as his father's, but that was the extent of their similarities. However, there were striking distinctions between the two siblings, that shone through their likeness. The youngest had a very rustled look, tousled and constantly unkempt, even though he could tell he was clean and brushed. The oldest had the deepest blue eyes he'd ever seen (a lie, he had seen similar eyes once, long ago when he was but an innocent boy) and an almost regal look, as if she could overpower the room. Unlike her brother, she looked graceful and dignified, though he could see dirt under her fingernails and several scratches and bruises he himself remembered having when he first started sparring. At five years old, Myria looked like she could have commanded an army and it worried Eddard to his core.

"Arra." called Sarra. "Please take the children to their rooms, they can play there." She headed to a regal looking chair and sat on it, as two servants walked in, ready to pour Arbour Gold into three goblets. "Sit, Ned, you're our guest. It's time for the wine and cheese and bread. Wouldn't be a Northern House without the warm welcome."

The handmaiden placed her hands on each child's shoulder, guiding them toward the door. "Goodbye, Lord Stark!" Myria waved and she passed through the door, and Rickard held onto the door fame a little longer to be able to stare at their new guest. 

When the children were gone, Sarra placed her hand on her belly and sipped her goblet. "Tell my husband, Ned." Dale frowned in confusion. 

"I spoke to King Robert." Lord Stark said, after deliberating on his words. Dale's face instantly became panicked. The King was known to be easily angered and resentful toward the House he'd vanquished, who could tell what he'd do if he knew... "He sees the way, he understands."

"Why would you say anything? Did you not see the bounty he put on those kids' heads, kids!"Dale started before Ned's words settled in his brain.  "Wait, he won't do anything?"

"No" started the Stark Lord, but his expression was not peaceful. Sarra looked down as she drank the rest of her cup readily, eager to not feel a thing. "He'll let her live, recognise her as your legitimate child. However" he started, uncertain "he wants me to take her as my warden."

There it was, the truth that could not escape Sarra. She knew her child's life would always be trying, she knew Myria would not grow to be a woman next to her, no matter who had won the war. Despair rose on her chest, but she pushed it back, downing another cup of arbour gold as her eyes stung. "My child." she spoke slowly, the world spinning around her. "She deserves a mother."

"She'll stay with us, she'll have my family." Eddard started patiently, staring at the floor. He knew how this would play, how infuriated they would be, but how, on the next day, Myria would be on the ship headed to Eastwatch-By-The-Sea with him.

"No!" Dale Magnar said with power and fury in his voice. "She's my daughter, she stays with me. If the King understands, then he can see that Myria is fruit of this marriage! She doesn't know and will never know! Please, Stark. She's a child! Let her grow with her brothers in Skagos, where she was born." he seemed to be more furious as the minutes passed by. As if he'd get up and fetch his daughter and hide from all the evils that tore them apart.

"I'm sorry, but the King didn't leave a choice. Now more than ever, as he insists with the bounty on the Mad King's children, rumours are circulating. People know, in King's Landing. The King wants her to be raised as a northern lady, in Winterfell."

"So the King thinks we'll try to usurp his throne with a five year old?! He's as mad as his predecessor. She knows only ice, here, Stark, there is no fire. She'll not be leaving Magnar Hall, and that is final." Said Dale, with every bit of finality as he hoped to deliver. 

But it was not final. Sarra knew it, she felt it. Her daughter would be safer there, however much that broke her heart. She'd grow as Sarra herself once had, lady in waiting to Lyanna, even though they's spar instead of sow. "You have a daughter, have you not? Sansa, a baby."

"Sarra..." Dale said, shocked and astonished at his wife's implicit decision. She looked at him with eyes that shone with heartbreak but determination. A determination to let her daughter live and be free.

"Yes. But I know Skagosi customs, to raise warriors. I have two sons a few months older than her, she'll grow with them." He started. "It doesn't mean she wouldn't know Skagos. She can visit whenever you'd like, and you can come to Winterfell as well. I want to protect your daughter, Sarra, just as you always protected my siblings.

"I hope you do a better job at it that I did, Ned." she said defiantly. Dale, outraged and saddened beyond belief, rose from his chair and left. "I'm sorry about my husband. We love Myria so much. We've protected her for five years, it costs to let her go."

"I understand. I'd destroy anyone who dared touch my Sansa."

Later that night, Sarra laid in her daughter's bed, hugging her sleeping child, tears coursing down her cheeks. She held in her sobs, but her heart was unmistakably broken. She hoped she was making the right choice, in the long haul. "My dear, my star, my love. You're going to be so happy there. You'll have so many friends over there. Two Starks! No Derrick, I'm afraid, but you'll spar better than ever. Better than mummy, better than daddy." 

Myria kept on sleeping, unaffected, and dreaming snow and ice. 

The next day was only tears. Dale wouldn't speak to his wife, but she could tell he was crying as she was. Myria cried too, at first, but then the sense of adventure set in and she was excited. Sarra feared she didn't realise she was going to stay in Winterfell, but she didn't have the heart to correct her. 

As she saw her board the small caravel, her whole body and soul broke. Dale held her hand again, resolute in sharing their pain. 

As Myria stared ahead, imagining the lands beyond the sea, the horizon she'd seen her whole life, Sarra felt a jarring pain in her lower abdomen. For the third time in her life, her waters broke, and she was rushed inside. Keeana Magnar was born that day.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to be following the series because they're easier to separate and capture, because I read the books years ago and I don't fancy reading them again.  
> This is the pilot, welcome.

The air was crisp but not too cold for Myria as she stood with a bow in hand, evaluating the strength of the wind to see at which angle she would shoot. A few meters away stood the Stark boys, Jon Snow and Robb, watching Bran as he unsuccessfully tried to shoot an arrow. Rickon was perched somewhere laughing at his brother. She knew Lord Stark and Lady Catelyn were somewhere as well, watching. And she also knew that sometimes Lord Stark strayed his eye from his sons to see her aim. He'd tell her sometimes, that she reminded him too much of her mother.  As she tried to hit bullseye, failing by mere centimetres, she heard laughs. Bran had lost another arrow, she'd wager. With her back to the boys she yelled "Steady yourself, Bran!" just as Lord Stark said "And which one of you was a marksman at ten? Keep practising, Bran."

She lowered her bow and went to fetch some more arrows, and caught Arya stealing one. "Can I have your bow for a second, Myria?" with a devilish glint in her eye.

"You can have it however long you want it, love." Myria replied, amused. "You keep beating Bran, you prove your brothers wrong." _And I win my bet_ , she completed in her head, but she wasn't going to share that bit. She handed the oversized bow to the eleven year old and watched as she hit bullseye without waiting more than a second to aim. 

As she bowed and Bran ran after her, the teens all laughed, and her eyes glinted with pride as her gaze locked with the Stark bastard's amused one. She turned and promptly left, following Bran and Arya to see an end to their petty squabbles. 

Life at Winterfell was peaceful for Myria. She was happy there, things were simple. She had a family who'd grown with her, friends who she'd give her life to protect. She missed Skagos, of course, but she went there every year, to visit her father and her siblings, who'd grown to almost twice her size. But she had a feeling, Myria, that things were about to change.

Suddenly, Lord Stark's infamous words seemed to ring truer, and not just for her. Winter did seem like it was coming. And it seemed like it was going to be harsher. Somehow, when she and Robb, who had been separating the younger Stark siblings, heard that a Night's Watch deserter had been caught and that they were to accompany Lord Stark and help prepare Bran, they were not that surprised. There was an overall instinct in the North that things were about to become more agitated.

An hour later, Myria sat on her horse as she watched Jon support Bran as he watched the execution. Theon Greyjoy shuffled closer to her horse, needing some semblance of support, though he did not speak. Jon was the first to turn back and head towards her, not looking twice at Theon as he reached her. "Ride with me?" 

She knew what that meant. As the all descended in a single line back to Winterfell, she and Jon, atop their horses, stayed behind. "Does it bother you, to see someone executed this way?"

"No." Jon replied, swiftly. "He made an oath to the Night's Watch and he broke it. Death is the punishment." he stopped for a few seconds. "I don't know what made him run but it must have been scary."

"Aye, terrifying I'd wager." she said lightly, her eyes on the horizon. There was no snow, unfortunately. She missed the snow in Skagos. "No Wildling has ever scared a Brother of the Night's Watch that much, I think your father was foolish to discredit the man so quickly."

"You're too superstitious, Magnar." He quipped, a mocking smile. "I knock at your door, you think a White Walker lies behind it." 

"You're just too pale, Jon Snow." she laughed, throwing his quip back at him. The bastard frowned a bit, but she knew it was in good faith. Suddenly, the line of horses halted, and up front, Lord Eddard, Robb and Theon dismounted, inspecting something. "What do you reckon is up there?"

"Let's find out shall we?" Jon said as he hopped out of his horse, offering her a hand that she promptly ignored, preferring to hop off herself as well. In that castle, there were few people she felt very comfortable with. She shared the most with Theon because they were both in foreign land, but he was a dimwit and she had little patience for his whims. Robb was charming, but he was high born and at every turn he underestimated her. Deep down she believed he wanted her to sow and wear long dresses as all ladies do. It was Jon Snow she liked the most. He was as much an outsider as her, sparred better than her (and so posed a bigger challenge) and didn't talk too much. He'd been her first friend there, though Arya was her closest. 

They followed the line of men past a dead stag, butchered with its guts out. Jon, curious as ever, skipped the line to get to his father as they reached the culprit of the attack. They all stared at it, amazed. A direwolf, impaled by the stag's antler, with five little puppies finding warmth in her body. "It's a freak" spit out Theon, and she couldn't have been more annoyed with the Greyjoy boy. It was a direwolf, the sigil of House Stark and a creature unseen for decades, if not centuries south of the Wall.

"Do you want to hold it?" Jon offered a puppy to Bran, who held it close. 

"Where will they go?" Bran asked, looking fondly at the pup in his arm.

"They don't belong here."

"Better a quick death" said Lord Stark. Not a second went past, Theon had taken his blade from his sheath, ready to follow orders. "They won't survive without their mother."

"Right," said Theon "give it here." said he to Bran as he tried to grab the pup. the younger Stark, tried to hold him, yelling "No!" when it was out of his arms.

"Put your blade away" said Robb, every bit as frustrated as Myria.

"I take orders from your father, not you." the Greyjoy quipped back, fiery and quick witted."

"Please, father." begged Bran. Myria, feeling sorry for the boy, put her hand on his shoulder, hoping to help settle him.

"i'm sorry, Bran." his father went to apologise, but was interrupted by Jon.

"There are five pups." he said, "one for each of the Stark children." her heart clenched at that, wanting to scream at the boy that the noble blood of the Starks and of the First Men didn't skip him just because he was born out of wedlock. To Myria, he was as much a Stark as Robb. "The direwolf is the sigil of your House, they were meant to have them."

As Lord Stark lectured his children on responsibility and caretaking of pets, Myria approached Jon. "Who's the superstitious one now, lord it-was-meant-to-be?" He smiled back at her, but she could tell it was a bit strained.  She helped him pick up the puppies, handing two to Robb and holding the other two to her chest, not letting Jon share in this privilege. From her last trips to Skagos, she'd brought a deerhound and a mountain dog, Wind and Skane, but they were now grown and trained, so she revelled in the feel of pups against her chest.

"What about you?" Bran asked Jon.

"I'm not a Stark. Get on." He shuffled Bran along. Had she not already been shuffling away, she'd have pulled on his hair for saying stupidities. Her heart clenched either way. When she looked back she saw Jon distracted, following a noise.

"Jon?" she asked as he bent over. When he came back, a snowy white pup with red eyes was in his grip. The runt.

"Ah, the runt of the litter! That's yours, Snow." Theon quipped. 

"At least he gets one, dick." Myria replied, pleased when he turned and followed the elder men. Robb and Jon shared a guarded look, but soon enough all were on their way to the horses, wolves to their chest, contemplating how awfully poetic the situation was.

"The girls will be happy to get these pups." Myria said to Jon as her horse fell into step besides his. She'd realised she was holding the two female ones. "But yours is beautiful, Jon, snow white. I dare say the prettiest one."

"He's a runt, he'll need more care. They're tricky to train." he said.

"On the contrary, Jon." she explained. "I only pick runts. They love twice as much and yet are twice as independent. You won't have a thing to worry about with that love." Both the wolves in her arms were curled against each other in a light sleep. "They're beautiful."

"Yeah," said Jon, looking from her face, lovingly staring at the direwolves, to his own. "They are."

Suddenly she cursed. "Damn, I hope my dogs don't eat them." Jon laughed earnestly.

"In a few months you'll be wishing they had, I think." 

As they reached Winterfell, Arya and Rickon awaited by the gates. "Guess what, Arya." she said, as she rode her horse next to the eleven year old.

"What?" she managed to say, before she picked one of the pups by the neck and dumped it in her arms. 

"it's yours!" Myria said. Arya had a "no way" expression, and before she could sputter out a nervous semblance of words, she added "I'm not kidding, go talk to your father." needless to say, the young girl practically ran. 

"You're too soft on her." said Jon as they rode into the stables to leave their horses. "If she were your daughter, she'd be spoiled rotten." They hopped out, and unsaddled the horses as they spoke.

"What, me?" she said incredulously, laying the pup in the hay as she took care of her horse. "Are you seriously telling me _I_ spoil her rotten? Do you think I don't see the gifts you give her, the sparring lessons at night when nobody's watching? You're the one who's too soft, I'm just soft enough." As she finished she held the pup once more and headed to Jon's stall, where he was just finishing as well, snowy pup in hand. He seemed to be rosy in the cheeks. "It seems you want me to win our bet, do you?"

 "I only give her lessons so she'll stand a chance, you know it." he smiled defiantly at her. Myria went up to him, mere centimetres apart, nose to nose as they were almost the same height.

"What I know is that Bran will never win against Arya, and that yesterday was the last time you won against me. I turn seventeen next week, Jon, and nobody defeats a Skagosi when they turn seventeen." With a witty smile she turned her back and left, puppy in hand, to get to the eldest Stark girl. Memories coursed through her mind, the fun she'd had with Jon Snow throughout the years. Her fast friend, though Arya held the spot for best.

As she reached Sansa's door, she heard laughter inside. Had to be Jeyne. She didn't bother knocking, knowing the thirteen year old was probably just enjoying gossip. "So how fare you, fair ladies of the North, future queens." she welcomed with a high pitch voice, trying to sound soft and romantic. The truth is Myria loved Sansa to bits, she'd been there since the redhead was one year old. They didn't have much in common, though, so their conversations were short and sporadic, mostly revolving around Myria's appearance. "I've brought a present" she said, not to bore them too quickly.

"What is it?" Sansa quipped curiously, after rolling her eyes at the older girl's mockery. "If it is a weapon, I think I've told you enough times, I'm not interested, I'm not -" she stopped as she heard the whine from the Skagosi's lap. "Is that a dog?"

"No, Sansa." she said, handing the grey puppy to its owner. "We were returning to Winterfell when we came across a dead direwolf." She stopped to bask in the girls' reaction. "There were six pups, one for each Stark." She saw Sansa's bitter face when she said six, but she knew the young girl wouldn't say a word against Jon Snow, not with her around. "And this one is yours."

She went to leave as the girls fawned over the cute little thing when Sansa said "Wait, Myria!" She stopped at the doorway. "I'm really glad you let your hair grow, and as thanks for bringing me the wolf, you could come over so I can style it! It looks a bit knotty." her intentions were pure, she knew, but those words stringed together just made , Myria want to run. 

~~~~ 

A few days later, on her seventeenth birthday, Myria was celebrating in her favourite way, sparring against the Stark boys and other sellswords. So far, she had lost once and won five times. The odds were good. She had yet to fight Snow, though.

"It seems it's time for the entertainment of the year!" Robb yelled as two sellswords fell, both defeated in a draw. "Jon Snow and Myria Magnar, the ultimate duel." His smile was almost bloodthirsty, but she knew it was only because their duels were never slow paced, always leaving people at the edge of their seats. She had never beat Jon Snow and she knew exactly why. Back in Skagos, everyone she duelled was broad and big and burly, the blood of the First Men evident in their posture. But she was lean and quick, so the used speed to overpower their strength. In Winterfell it was mostly the same, except for Jon, who was just as quick, if not quicker, and stronger than her. She doubted she would beat him this year, despite her quips at him.

Jon approached her with a smirk, his broad but polished sword in hand. She had two thinner swords, one in each hand. Her father, after hearing of her failed attempts at conquering the Stark bastard in a duel, had taught her the tricks of a Dornish knight he'd fought at Harrenhal, tricks that should play to her speed and overpower a one sworded man. In her first fight here, on her namesake, she'd lost her balance, but she'd won since then, easily defeating Robb. "It'll feel good to win again, my lady."

As he drew back his arm to strike, Myria moved quick, placing one arm in a defensive stance as the other drew back as well.

"You will not" a strong voice boomed. Both teens stilled and looked at the Stark lord before them. "I've received a raven that the King is headed here. You are to report to Lady Stark to see what needs assisting with." 

Myria hung her head in disappointment, shoulders slumped as she started heading inside. A hand grabbed her arm, Jon, and he whispered "I'll meet you in the godswood after dinner, we'll settle our score then." He smirked as he walked ahead of her, and adrenaline coursed through her veins as she followed him, ready to prove herself as a worthy warrior. 

Helping in the cutting of trees for logs, moving chandeliers into the Great Hall, those activities occupied her birthday's afternoon. Before dinner, in her free time, she let her dogs run free from the kennel, joined by Summer, Bran's pup, Nymeria, Arya's pup, and Grey Wind, Robb's pup. Wind and Grey Wind, as their names promised, became fast friends. But in his rest, it was with Ghost that Skane liked to rest. She led them into the woods and sat by a rock to rest, thinking of the twelve years spent under the Starks' wing. She missed Skagos dearly, but she knew that, upon her return to the mountainous island, she'd miss Winterfell as well.

She was quiet during dinner, eating fast so she'd have time to stretch. The time for contemplating was over, and now adrenaline coursed her veins. During the meal, many times their gazes crossed and smirks were traded, each defying the other, overly cocky, the both of them. Robb looked from one to another, confused and intrigued.

After dinner, in the courtyard, Myria honed her two swords and stretched her legs, patted Wind, before leading him into the kennel, and walked toward the godswood. The godswood was the most beautiful place in the world, she'd wager. The lake, the tree and the red leaves hanging over the water, it was a mystical place. And there he was, sitting, sharpening his sword as she'd seen Lord Stark do all the time. "Ready to lose, Snow?"

Jon didn't even look up, just smirked. "You're as delusional as ever, Magnar." Slowly he stood and steadily moved to her. His eyes on her, it seemed as if he was going to lean in, when his sword did it for him, aiming for her torso. Her opposite arm twisted and her sword met his in a cross. The sword on her other hand went to strike him on the other side of his torso, but he skilfully moved away. Now they stood, as champions do, stepping each to opposite sides in a circle, evaluating each's next move. Her swords went first, provoking where he was defensive. She delivered a downwards blow with one hand a a sideways sweep with the other, and he met both her blows with a curve of her sword, deflecting. She jokingly growled at his, showing her teeth as wolves do, as she had done every time they had sparred. He was next to strike, a blow that swiped from low to her shoulder, but she twirled to avoid it. She fought like a dancer, evading blows and swirling around him, and he fought like a wolf, attacking and evaluating her every move, adjusting to her movements. In the end, he overpowered her, as he always did, and managed to nick her cheek. She stilled, in shock.

"You nicked me!" she screeched, outraged, but with a smile in the corner of her lips. She struck him with all her might, but he deflected. He was distracted though, and lost balance, dropping his sword and latching onto her hips as he fell backwards. She fell onto him, one of her swords nicking him in the neck, as Jon groaned from his head hitting the ground. "Are you alright?" she asked him, her hand skimming the side of his head, brushing through the black curls. He stared at her eyes, the deepest of blue he'd ever seen, more beautiful than any pair his eyes had ever rested on. His eyes, for a split second, jumped to her lips, but her stared back with regret as something stirred in his lower belly.

"Aye, I'm fine." he gently nudged her off him and sat up. "Happy birthday, Magnar. Another year and you still can't win."

"And yet I didn't lose."

~~~~

 

She was summoned outside, standing next to Jon Snow as the King arrived. She could not get used to his shaved face and had mocked him all morning for it, but now her cheeks reddened every time they exchanged glances. It was, honestly, a look that suited him. The past weeks had been heavy with preparations for the Baratheon and Lannister hoards, and she was as tired as everybody else, and eager to feast. The prince and some knights were the first to enter, the Crown Prince exchanging pleasant gazes with Sansa (though Robb's face was anything but pleased). Then the King entered.

He was great, she could tell, if great meant only big. He sported no crown and looked merely a lord, no kingly aura to him. He approached Eddard with a severe look and groaned "You've gotten fat." Myria couldn't handle that and snorted, and Jon had to kick her to get her to shut up. The lords laughed between them and embraced, complaining, as old friends do, of how time has passed, and neither have seen each other.

Queen Cersei came next, exiting her royal red and gold carriage, looking every bit as beautiful as the tales told, followed by her brother, Jaime, who looked beautiful and dangerous, a real kingslayer.  

The King requested Stark take him to the crypts, which was as a good a sign as any that they could disband. so Myria grabbed Jon's hand and all but ran to the courtyard, all the while being lectured by the septa for unladylike walking. "Come on, Snow, let's have an archery competition."

"Oh, you want to have you arse kicked, _again_?" he smirked.

"Leave my arse alone, you're just scared for your dignity, or whatever's left of it." she quipped, running ahead to get the arrows. She missed the way his gaze turned to her bottom for just a second, distracted. It did not, however, escape Robb, who had come to join them.

"You're insufferable, Jon." he said with a laugh, handing him one of the bows that had been laying next to the marks. 

"What?" Jon said, taking it, a cheeky glint in his eye. 

~~~~

Getting ready was a nightmare for Myria. Getting ready with Arya only slightly dampened her foul mood. To know they both hated it only made a bit sympathetic. She had been bathed and dressed in a Skagosi party robe of a maroon colour with furs, and now her hair was being pulled and brushed, exactly how it should never be. Her hair was a curly knotty mess that needed to roam free, and the shorter it was, the better. Every trip to Skagos she'd cut her hair by the shoulders, but in Winterfell she'd been struck by the septa for doing so. She hadn't been home in almost a year and her hair now scraped the tops of her breasts, every bit as wild as ever. She hated it and just wanted to chop it off. have it an appropriate length for a warrior.

As soon as she was looking ladylike enough to satisfy the handmaidens, she apologised to her best friend and promptly ran, before they got any ideas and tried to put the same powdery substance on her face as they did to Arya. She went to her room, aware that the feast had started, and picked up the book on the First Men she had nicked from Maester Luwin. From her window she heard stabs and grunts, and when she looked, she saw it was Jon Snow, taking his anger out on a practice dummy. "Well look who it is. Why are you not at the feast with Ghost under the table, feeding him scraps?" 

"Lady Stark didn't want a bastard among the royals." he said simply, looking at her for a moment, startled. "Didn't know your chambers were so close to the courtyard."

"Oh, never wondered how I'm always here before you and leave after you?" she smiled, though she couldn't ignore the stab of anger toward the lady who had housed her for twelve years. "I don't feel like going, Just want to read my book and keep you company." He smiled very sweetly, as Jon Snow sometimes did. 

"You look too pretty to waste away out here. Go impress some southern lords." he was trying to be nice, but she could tell that he was trying to push her away to be alone for a while. He was hurt. She did blush, anyway, at the shameless compliment.

And so, after a few minutes of light reading which were mostly spent gazing over her pages at the taut back of her friend, worried for him, she left for the feast, having been summoned by an angry Arya that wondered how could a best friend leave her to suffer a boring feat. The feast was fantastic. The food was lively and spicy, the wine sharp and golden and the music so loud and cheerful she just wanted to dance with Arya. She, however, was placed at the end of the table next to Robb, which would've been an honour had it not been for the fact that it was a hidden seat. That was, though, no deterrent for her fun. 

"You know, Theon, I always hear you badgering on and on about the women you've fucked, but you were a compete pussy last night when talking to Kyra the village wench!" Robb remarked to his overly cocky friend as the boys around him laughed. 

"Oh, yes, surely all that dignified attitude must be compensating for something." she added, fruit paused at her lips before she smirked and ate it, enjoying the "ooohs" and "aaahs" around the table. Theon, flustered, looked down. Robb, however, focused his mockery on a new subject.

"You seem to know all about compensation, is my brother not satisfying you?" the whole table erupted in laughter, but Myria's head scrunched in confusion, as if not understanding, though her face was redder than a tomato.

"You know nothing of what you speak, Robb." she sniped quickly. "You mistake every ounce of affection for love, you love stricken fool. You probably think Septa Mordane fancies you."

"Robb!" His mother called him, interrupting their laughter. They turned to see Arya had thrown a spoonful of food at her older sister, who looked furious as she avoided the crown prince seeing her dirty. The younger Stark was laughing so much that if she didn't control herself, Myria feared she would piss herself. 

"Come on." her Stark friend pulled her by the hand, toward Arya, picking her up and saying "it's time for bed." and whisking them both away to the halls. "You know, Arya, you're the most devilish and wicked child I've met. I'm proud of you." he said, laughing.  Arya, now on the floor and running to her chambers, smacked him before thanking him, her own way of showing affection. 

"Goodnight, Myria!" she yelled as she reached her door, Nymeria barking as she hear her owner opening the door.

"Let's walk." Robb said, holding her arm in his. After a few silent seconds he started "You know, when I was younger I thought I'd marry you." he started, and shock quickly seized her, her arm tensing. "Why else would my father bring a girl to Winterfell? There are no female wardens for boys, and you never stayed with Sansa. No, you fought with us, and you were string from the beginning, a true northerner. 

I asked my father not to marry us once, before I realised that's not what you were brought for. I told him you were far too close to Jon for us to work. You know, he laughed at me. But it was true, you and Jon were always close, always the best warriors and the fastest of friends." his pace didn't halt, but she was feeling very alarmed.

"Robb, where are you going with this?" she asked. 

"I'm trying to say that... That I understand, that I see you two together, now more than ever-"

"Robb!" Myria interrupted him, laughing. "You think Jon and I are together? Do you not know? He wants to go to the Wall, to be with your uncle Benjen." 

"Oh!" he said, halting, struck "So you are not together?"

"No." she said, laughing. "We are close friends, just that. You and I are friends, are we not? And we're not together."

"Yes, I see." he said, looking thoughtfully at the ground as they reached the doors to the feast, now dwindling. "I see how happy you are with him, you're... challenged. I wonder, are you going to stay when he leaves for the Wall? If my father leaves for King's Landing, and my brother for the Wall, nothing will be keeping you here."

She didn't answer as she entered the Hall, but the question haunted her. If Jon really did leave, what would she do in WInterfell? Arya would surely go south with Lord Stark and Sansa. For now, she did not want to think as she joined her friends in a spree of Arbour Gold and Red, until she was as happy as her dogs.

Later, in the dead of night, as she walked through the courtyard to clear her head before bed, an unexpected guest crossed her path. "Well, aren't you striking." It was the Imp, and he, too, was drunk. "Your eyes, just like your father's" he smirked.

"Sorry, Lord Lannister, but you've clearly never met my father." she tried to skiv off, but he intercepted her again.

"You're the girl from Skagos, are you not?"

"Yes" she reluctantly said. 

"Forgive me... I've never been to Skagos, but they tell me you're direct descendants of the First Men." He waited for something, but when she didn't move he continued. "Are you not?"

"Yes."

"Well, then" he chirped happily. "You're awfully lean for a descendant of the First Men, I thought they were supposed to be stronger, and darker."

"My mother was a Karstark."

"Oh yes, no doubt." he said, "but still, a northern family is supposed to have more northern blood, and yet you're leaner than my sister."

Feeling brave, fuelled by liquid courage, she quipped "Perhaps she's been broadened by childbirth." Fearing the Imp's reaction, she recoiled a bit, but relaxed when he laughed and snorted.

"I like you, you're not as stiff as the others. Sit, I don't bite." he said heartily, and she did. His wasn't bad company. "You know, my brother met your mother once, in King's Landing."

"Are you sure? My mother never told me she'd been south of Harrenhal." she felt relaxed, but wanted to hear more stories of her mother. She missed Sarra Magnar, and hoped to see her again. 

"Yes, I'm sure. He was there when it happened." he said, looking at her, searching for something, some type of recognition. "You know my father never wanted me, I was as good as a bastard to him from the moment I was born. You're lucky."

"Me? Why, I'm just normal." she said.

"No, you're stupid." he joked. "South of the Neck, people would recognise you, your eyes are famous, and yet here you are, perfectly ignorant."

"You're drunk." she said, rising.

"That may be, but you and I are the same." he said as she started walking away. "It was a pleasure meeting you, bastard." he laughed.

"Fuck off, Imp." she replied heartily, too drunk to thoroughly think.  

 


End file.
